


To Be Loved In Halves

by akzseinga



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:27:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6044845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akzseinga/pseuds/akzseinga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: 5 people that told Raven Reyes they loved her (and one who did)</p><p>Raven wonders if there was a time when things were different somehow, warmer and kinder, full of goodnight kisses and goodnight stories. She thinks she might recall something of this sort, her mom close to her, smelling of something nice, like vanilla or lavender, tucking her tightly in bed and kissing her forehead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Loved In Halves

_darling, you are much too whole, to be loved in halves_

 

  1. Rosa



The fact is, her mother was not a very caring person. In her own face, Raven could still see her; the same full lips, thick brows, and stubborn frown, but it was mostly an absence of things that reminded her of dear mom. She was hiding in Raven's lack of faith that she deserved to be happy or loved without earning it first, because - _remember, child, nothing comes for free_. But it was physical too, simpler. Her mother's care was mostly an absence, and it left traces on her face and on her body: she was so thin she could count her ribs and her skin was colorless and grey at times, ashen from lack of proper diet and sleep when anger kept her awake. Her lips were rough, with skin coming off at the lightest touch, and sometimes she bit them just to sink her teeth into something.

Raven wonders if there was a time when things were different somehow, warmer and kinder, full of goodnight kisses and goodnight stories. She thinks she might recall something of this sort, her mom close to her, smelling of something nice, like vanilla or lavender, tucking her tightly in bed and kissing her forehead.

"Te amo, bebé."

But that could be just a good night story, for what she cares. Unlikely to be true just the same. And without any impact whatsoever, because no matter how hard she wanted to believe it, she knew the reality.

And the reality was, her mother was mostly an absence. In her own face, she could still see her.

 

  1. Finn



Finn was there always, from the moment she had met him until the moment she had lost him.

With the same brown eyes, that were much kinder than her own, not so angry and hungry, but brown just the same, they looked almost like brother and sister. She heard people used to have brothers and sisters before the war, before the Ark, back on Earth. Finn’s mum used to joke that they were joined at the hip and that she didn’t remember giving birth to the two of them at the same time and Raven heard that it happened sometimes too, people being born together.

Raven loved Finn’s mum and she loved Finn more than anything in the world. From the moment she had met him, until the moment she had lost him, and then quite some time after that. She had loved him.

She's not quite sure when she had lost him, it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment. When he went to jail for a crime he didn’t commit, or when he slept with Clarke, or just simply and irreversibly when he died?

Whatever the case is, she had lost him somewhere along the way, and for the longest time she thought what she was taught, that she didn’t try hard enough. To get him out, to come down on Earth faster, to stop Clarke, from making him love her or from killing him, there's no difference at all anymore.

Raven knows how he did it.

How he died, of course, scared and grateful for the lesser pain. She knows that.

But she knows how he told Clarke he loved her, too, because she remembers how he had told her just the same before.

Believing it with his whole heart. He was fifteen at the time and she couldn’t remember her life before she had met him.

"I love you, Raven, I will always love you".

She had that. His belief that he loved her, and maybe it was not the way she wanted to be loved, but for a long moment it was enough, for a long moment she didn't know.

Raven wonders sometimes if Clarke expected something different from him, too. Maybe you always expect something different.

She expected they would die together. She heard that, back on Earth, that happened sometimes too.

 

  1. Clarke



Raven isn’t one to self-reflect much. She doesn’t like to stay in her head for too long as usually she feels trapped when she does so. Lost in her own thoughts that she refuses to spill out, in shapes she refuses to paint, feelings she refuses to name.

Perhaps this is why it takes her some time to notice the mundane poetry in how different her and Clarke look. It’s such a cliche, really, she would have expected better from Finn.  With her blonde hair, light blue eyes and soft body, Clarke might be her exact opposite, the reverse, the other side of the coin. She wonders if this is why Finn was so quick to forget Raven. Nothing to remind him of her.

It would be so easy to forget that Clarke is not to blame, it would be easier to hate her. But Clarke is brave and she is nice and they probably would have never even met on the Ark, but Raven could easily imagine them being friends down here. She could use a friend.

In the midst of war, the contrasting parts of them are subdued. In the dimness of the dropship and quiet hum of the engines, Clarke says:

"I would pick you first".

It's not really a love confession, Raven thinks, but somehow Clarke knows exactly what Raven wants to hear.

Much later Raven realized two things she should have realized sooner, but at this very moment in the dropship, filled with pain and a bullet in the spine, surrounded by rocket fuel, Raven was not aware off:

That Clarke always knows what to say and that Clarke lies. (Raven, if anything, has only her ragged truths to offer).

Raven doesn't blame her, we make the use of the things we are good at.

 

  1. Wick



Raven, for example, is good at believing she owes people. It, of course, is deeply rooted in the firm conviction that she doesn't deserve anything good without earning it first.

Fortunately she's smart too and she does not only know how she wants to be loved but after some time, despite some obvious obstacles, she learns how she wants to love, too. And it's definitely not because she should.

She wonders if she picked Wick for a while, because he looked nothing like Finn. Much older and a little taller, with eyes which colour she could no longer recall. Something cold and distant that went well with his light hair.

The fact is, she pushes him away not because he wanted to help, but rather because he wanted something she was not willing to give and he offered something she was not ready to take. On occasion, he used words as weapons.

"How can you do this to me? I love you".

It's something Wick says when she tells him how she feels, and walks away. These words echo in her ears and head for a few days, but it's a hollow sound. It passes.

If she feels lonely, it’s still better than feeling guilty.

 

  1. Monty



Monty says they are in this together, and that they are her family now.

There’s a heaviness in him that was not there before the Mount Weather, dark circles under his sharp eyes, shallow wrinkles at their corners. She thinks she have noticed the first grey hair over his forehead and it pains her to see him so young yet far too old. But he still has something she admires, the genuine belief that people are good. If Raven liked him less, she might have dismissed it as naiveness.

"Come on, Raven, you know I love you, but this is beyond stupid."

It makes her smile - not quite wide yet, but maybe she’s getting there - and it makes her feel warm inside, because it's this simple for him and it should be this simple for her too: this blossoming friendship between them.

He does have a flare for a melodramatic, though, and for exaggeration as well, so she doesn’t pay much attention to the word he used, but rather continues this little science banter they are engaged in. It’s a nice distraction.

Raven knows it helps him too. They keep their hands busy working on a heater together and it makes them push back what they would like to push out. She elbows him in the ribs lightly and Monty pretends it bothers him, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like light hearted swearing of a school boy.

She likes him this young, it makes her remember her own age.

 

  1. Bellamy



Sometimes Bellamy’s hands leave traces on her body. Traces of where his fingers touched her when she asked him. Sometimes it’s his mouth instead, painting light bruises on her neck or collarbone. She asks for that, too.

Not to be treated like she’s made out of glass or out of stone.

His fingers dig deep, grab a handful of her flesh and mold it. She wanted so much to like her body once more, this unwholly version of it. When she feels Bellamy’s desire, it’s close enough.

She likes Bellamy’s body, too. The way it fits with her own, the way it reciprocates her moves. She likes how hard it is, muscles moving under skin with grace and purpose, veins pulsing quickly with blood when he falls next to her, exhausted and panting. She gets peaceful when looking at his freckles and angry when noticing his scars. She gets surprised when she realizes how much she knows this body of his and how, after a while, her own body responds to it. Eagerly and hungry, as is she is discovering something new, exploring strange grounds.

Bellamy is patient with her, but it’s not a grandiose gesture on his part, it’s just the way it is. He doesn’t ask questions and he doesn’t expect answers. Not at the beginning, when Raven comes to his tent every other night and curls up beside him on a bed, and not after a week, when she asks him to hold her, not even after two months, when she leans on her elbows and with her lips to his ear, whispers, _you should kiss me_.

He doesn’t asks questions now, but she thinks he knows her like no other.

Sometimes he tells her stories, the one he likes best, born in ancient times and of ancient values: morals and responsibility. Raven usually pretends they bore her, but she knows them by heart. Especially the one Bellamy is telling now, with one arm under her head and other softly massaging her hip; the story of a girl who wanted nothing more but to bury her brother.

“She reminds me of you,” he confesses and clears his throat as if something is stuck there. “I’m glad your story had a better ending.”

Bellamy doesn’t ask the question again, but if he did right at that moment, Raven’s answer might be different; she might stop and look at him, filled with something warm and kind, with goodnight kisses and goodnight stories; _Yes, it helped._

And, maybe--

_I love you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite happy with this fic, even though Marta did her best to make it readable ;) Thank you and, as usual, you are te best!
> 
> Also, if you know, please tell me whom should I credit for the quote used as an inspiration.


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